Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(52)
She sat on a barstool, her bare feet dangling. “I could hang out here.”
“Me too. One of my favorite places in the house.” And seeing her sitting on the barstool, curves tempting me, luscious lips sending my thoughts under that pristine white sundress, it became favorite for one more reason. I had to take a deep breath to calm my reacting body. Almost…later. I vowed to remain patient just a little longer.
Hannah blinked, carrying on the conversation, again clueless about my sidetracked thoughts. “That’s right, this vast space and the greenhouse beyond the door are still connected to the house. We seem like a world away.”
“Yep. Mom and Dad wanted to pull into the garage and go into the house directly, protected from the weather outside and safer.”
She tilted her head, staring at me intently. “Your parents are quite intelligent. Your dad with these cars...” A smirk twisted her lips, then she pointed at my chest. “Apple” —her hand opened, her arm sweeping wide to indicate the rest of the garage—“Tree.”
I smiled, liking her comparison of me to my dad. He was a man with a few obsessive-compulsive quirks, but he was a dedicated businessman who loved his family with a fierce passion. With minor adjustments of career path choices and the whole family–business time allotment, I wanted to be just like him.
“What’s over here?” She’d turned on the barstool, then hopped off and walked toward another corner of the garage.
I stood and caught up with her, wrapping my arms around her from behind. “Those are, well, kind of hard to explain. Many years back, my parents heard about a local young veteran who returned home with an injury that made it impossible for him to drive a car. They inquired and discovered the veteran could drive, but only if custom alterations were made to his vehicle. Through their attorney, they anonymously contributed funds designated to make the needed custom alterations to the vehicle he had driven prior to his war-time injury.”
I stepped to the side and pointed to a picture up on the far left corner of the thirty-seven framed photographs. “After the first donation, they had their attorney contact the local VA Hospital and arrange for the administration staff to privately update him on any veteran who needed a customized vehicle due to sustained injuries. The pictures are of the veterans they’ve helped, men and women who kept their driving freedom with the help of my parents plan. Sometimes it was an alteration of the vet’s existing vehicle, other times it was a contribution of enough funds for a wheelchair accessible van. They created a highly specialized anonymous giving-back thing.”
Moisture sparkled in Hannah’s eyes.
My brow furrowed, and I stepped back to her. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t intend for any of that…”
She blinked and looked down, swiping a fallen tear from her cheek with her hand. “I know, just…wow. So…no words.”
“My parents don’t have a traditional ‘I Love Me Wall’ displaying college degrees or life accomplishments,” I further explained. “The first person they helped sent a picture and a letter through the attorney, thanking them. My parents started this photo collection to remind them of smiles they created. They helped give as much freedom as possible to those who put their lives on the line for all of us. My dad believes the classic man-and-machine connection allows us to enjoy life to the fullest, beyond having a car as transportation. If either of my parents get a bit down with life’s challenges, they come here. Helps the soul.”
Hannah grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Do their friends, or their mechanic, know about these and what your parents do?”
“Nope, whenever someone comes through here, if they’re asked, they simply say they are pictures of happy people. The intended vagueness usually creates a curious expression on folks, but nobody presses the question.”
“Wow. Your parents do so much for charity. The Unity Foundation for human trafficking and this. So, wait. You told me the secret about what they do.”
“Yes, yes, I did. So if we ever break up, I’m obligated to kill you.” I winked. “I need to be a thorough tour guide, don’t I?” I gestured an arm toward the far wall of the garage, while crooking and offering my other. “Shall we continue the tour?”
“Lead on my good man.” She held onto my arm.
“See any other favorites in the lineup? I know you’re drawn to the Jaguar, for good reason. I’m curious what else you like.”
“What’s this one?”
“Oh, she’s a beaut’. A 1929 Duesenberg. What attracts you to her?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Hard to say, initially the collection of lights up front, the incredible amount of polished metals, how she sits with a presence of nobility. Is that silly?” She glanced at me. “What’s her name?”
“Not silly at all. Now you understand why I appreciate the artistic lines of a vehicle, why I love your Josephine. Now you get a little more of what makes me tick.” I nodded toward the car. “They named her ‘Duesie.’ More obvious than the others, but they love the nickname.”
She smiled, leaning into me. “Thank you for sharing this special place with me.”
It was the place I escaped to while growing up to feel closer to family, my dad especially, even all those years when he wasn’t around. It meant a lot to me that Hannah felt the same, that she got it—got me.